


Ken & Hawaii

by ieroceans



Category: South Park
Genre: Arguing, Boys Being Boys, Craig's POV, Cute, Cutesy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gay, Love, M/M, Photography, Romance, Slow Build, lots of swearing, lots of tunes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ieroceans/pseuds/ieroceans
Summary: I expected the sun, the sand, and the scenic landscapes. I did not, however, expect Kenny McCormick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> my work is still a bit choppy but enjoi the gay

I scale the steps of the bus as quickly as I possibly can, suitcase and backpack in tow. When I reach the landing I glance around the space and am dismayed to find that the only empty seat is next to none other than Kenny McCormick. I sigh and tuck myself into the open space, pretending not to notice his wide grin.  
He nudges my shoulder with his. “Hey Tucker.”  
“McCormick,” I grunt. “What’s with the look?”  
He shrugs, still beaming at me. His hair is neater than I’ve ever seen it and is shorter than it was last time I saw him. I wonder why these are things I notice about him. I put my earbuds in and act like he’s not important. Act like I can’t feel his thigh pressed against my own. The rest of the ride to the airport is blissfully Kenny free despite his close proximity to me.  
***  
Kenny plops into the airplane seat next to me and laughs when I give him an annoyed look. “Aw, did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?” When I don’t reply, he prompts me with an “eh?”  
“Fuck off,” I scowl automatically. Being mean or rude to him is like a knee jerk reaction or second nature. I don’t think about it anymore. Our personalities simply clash; me being stoic and him being all kinds of peppy and fucking beautiful.  
“We’re buddies now. Cross’ orders,” he states, and I think he sounds kind of hopeful.  
I try not to sound too horribly displeased when I sigh. “Fuck, really?”  
He pouts, jutting his bottom lip out far more exaggeratedly than is necessary. “Come on, don’t act so disappointed. Let a guy down easy.”  
“How many people to a room?” I demand, glaring out the window rather than at that face.  
“Three. Except we were leftovers, so it’s just you ‘n me. Just you ‘n me, Tucker fucker.”

*** Day 1-4: Sunday-Wednesday, May 4-7, 2003

Our first two days on Molokai are spent learning the drill, the surroundings, and taking very few photos. It’s torture for me, but Kenny seems more than pleased to slack off in such a beautiful place. I do my best to ignore him.

Day four is the hottest so far and the first day that we actually go out in our assigned groups and take some photos. That’s also when I learn that Kenny is not a photography student. He’s shooting little snippets of Hawaii on a shitty handheld camcorder and laughing while I glare at him and then he just blurts it out.  
“I’m a video kid, not a photo nerd like you.” He waves the camcorder.  
I choke on my stupid fancy drink with the orange wedge in it. “What? But Cross said there were only photo students on this trip.”  
“Well, that was a lie. For me to come as a video student intruding on your oh so prestigious trip, I would have had to pay like, $2,539. So we lied because Cross knows I could hardly afford it already,” Kenny shrugs then, like this is all in a day’s work for him or something, like he’s in a 1960’s crime show. I think he’d look hot in one of those secret agent suits they always wear on TV.  
“Huh. Well uh, why’d you want to come anyway?”  
He smiles. “Because South Park is a shit town and because I heard that it was beautiful here. I have no actual assignments though, which is gonna get old really fucking fast.”  
“Well McCormick, when it does get old, I’ll give you an assignment.”  
“No way. That’s stupid. How’re you gonna grade me when you know nothing of the art?”  
“Don’t underestimate me, dude. I take college classes over the summer and I’m currently making a fuckin’ film,” I tell him. “I just prefer photo here because the video teachers all want me dead, I think.”  
He laughs but offers his hand to shake. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Tucker.” I wonder how he’d react if I made a movie about that laugh of his.  
***  
“McCormick?” I ask into the dark room. The name bounces around in our confined space.  
He groans, sounding like a bear that just arose from hibernation, except I know he hasn't been sleeping. “What is it?”  
"Can you sit in the chair over there?" I assume he'll know what I'm talking about because there's only one chair in the cramped hotel room.  
He props himself up on his elbow and gives me a dark look. "What for?"  
"For a photo, for god sakes. Why else would I make you sit there?" I snap. Sometimes I want to apologise for being so irritable, but he just brings out the worst in me. He always has, ever since we were kids. I mean, I've got a lot to be mad about, but this goes beyond simple indignation.  
He sighs, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing up. "It's like four in the morning."  
"You weren't sleeping. Sit down." I get my camera out and get the settings dialled in. "Stay like that, but turn your head to the left a bit."  
He obeys without any further complaints, and I shoot a few images of him at three different angles. "Tilt your head up, up... excellent. The light comes across the bridge of your nose and creates a wild look," I explain while I work.  
He smiles, breaking pose to cover his mouth with his hand. I've realised that he does this if there's a lot of attention on him or if he's being completely genuine. I take one more photo. "You made me get up because of the shadows?"  
"Once again, you weren't sleeping. And come on, these photos will be spectacular with some fine tuning," I slide off of my own bed to show him my favourite one. "See, the light from outside accentuates your cheekbones."  
He moves past me to take a piss with the bathroom door open, then he climbs back into bed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were in love with me, not the photography."  
"Good thing you know better than that then, because I wouldn't want you running around with that idea," I reply as steadily as I can with him staring at me.  
He huffs annoyedly and rolls over. I stare at the way his shoulder blades curve and jut out. Shadows splay across his tanned skin like long, slender fingers. I exhale shakily.

*** Day 5: Thursday, May 8, 2003

"I need an assignment today," Kenny announces cheerily.  
I'm in the shower and he's talking through the door at me. I groan loud enough that he can hear me. "I'm busy right now."  
"Well, you better be thinking about my assignment."  
"I've got your assignment," I utter.  
He claps his hands and does a whoop. "What is it?"  
"Leave me the fuck alone."  
"Fine, fine. I'm going!" He yelps.

I emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later. I'm only wearing boxers, which makes Kenny give me this stupid suggestive look. I flip him off and yank a pair of pants on. "Stop ogling me."  
He bursts out laughing immediately. "Who says that? Ogling? What are you, a 90 year old woman?"  
"I'm pretty sure 90 year old women don't say ogling, McCormick," I select the only tee shirt of mine that matters and slip it on.  
Kenny points at it. "Hey, isn't that Tweek's?"  
I can't help the blush that spreads across my face like wildfire. "No."  
"I'm pretty sure it is."  
"Well it's not." It totally is though. He forgot it at my place once and it just never made it back to him before he dumped me. It brings me comfort now, despite how fucked up our relationship was. Not that I need the comfort or anything, it’s not as if McCormick is of any real threat.  
Kenny takes a step closer, then another, still peering at my shirt. “Dude, that’s his shirt.”  
“How the fuck would you know, anyway?” I snap defensively. In an act of self preservation, I tug my chullo hat on too. I don’t wear the item very often now, because it’s a little small and I am, for the most part, more confident than I was when I got it. Technically, the one I carry with me is a replica that Tweek got me in 8th grade, but it’s almost exactly like the original.  
Kenny shrugs, nonchalant. “Because that’s the shirt that he was wearing when we made out while you two were broken up for the first time.” He winces when I gape at him. “Hey, don’t give me that look! Nobody even knew you guys were together the first time around!” He pauses, a little bit of irritation seeping into his look and tone. "It wasn't like, a big deal or whatever. And he wasn't even yours, Tucker!"  
I back him up against the side of his bed and put my face far too close to his in retaliation to this. I take it as a threat, I guess. Never mind that I already hate his guts. "I wanted him, okay? I wanted him to be mine."  
"I am not the reason you two broke up!" He screams at me, throwing his hands in the air. His face has gone almost completely red, overpowering his light – yet dense – freckling. Typically, they spread across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones.  
I feel a pang in my chest knowing that I've upset him that badly. And despite it all, I push on with the worst thing (to my knowledge) I could possibly say to him. "You sure? God, you really are South Park's resident whore."  
Kenny stands in silent anger for a moment, balled up fists shaking, but he never hits me. "Fuck you, okay? I thought you might understand that, but I guess I was wrong. You're just like all the others!" With this, he storms out of our room barefoot, shirtless, and indignant.  
I simply take a deep breath and grab my camera. We're supposed to catch a bus in 20 minutes, and I'm not going to miss that. Kenny can do whatever he likes.  
***  
"Craig! Where's Kenny?" Cross asks the second I step onto the bus.  
I shrug around my camera strap. “I’m not his keeper.”  
He sighs but waves me along. It's not like either of us can do a thing about the situation now.  
I take a window seat towards the back and power my camera on so I can properly look at the shots I took last night. Almost every single one takes my breath away. Not only because of my work – the shadows do what I wanted and are played upon in the right ways, the posing and angles are good – but because Kenny is mesmerising to look at. His shoulders are toned and his collarbones are prominent. He's got the same sharp jaw and blue eyes that I couldn’t help but notice three years ago. I would like to take more photos of him, if given the opportunity. If I didn't completely fuck that up today.

We have brunch in this tiny cafe by the beach, then we go off with our partners. Because mine is MIA, I am alone on the coast. That turns out to be just fine, however, because I can actually think straight when I’m alone. No pun intended.  
And I end up thinking about everything that’s happened since our plane landed in Ho’olehua airport, all of the sideways glances Kenny and I have shared, all of the times I thought I could just lean in. The times he stared in a not so joking manner, the snippets of film he’s got that are just me laughing or flipping him off. I think he’s even got one of me shirtless.  
I refuse to label this feeling though, this inability to look away once he’s caught my eye. Things are better if I pretend it doesn’t exist. I can muscle through another week stuck here with him, then we’ll be back to school and mundane life. Before I know it, I’ll be eighteen and done with high school. I’ll move to California and start over and Kenny McCormick will have only been a bump in the road. I can move on from this. I can pretend he never mattered, because he never really had the chance to.

*** Day 7: Saturday, May 10, 2003

We don't have an assignment on Saturday, which is just as well because it's the day Kenny shows back up – and, inherently, the day he gets screamed at for a whole forty five minutes courtesy of Cross. I stand outside the administrator’s housing as instructed and eavesdrop until the door comes crashing open. And there’s Kenny – he doesn’t look at all like what I expected, is not dirty, scared, or different in any form. He’s angry, but clean. Determined, not scared. And god, he’s exactly the same. His hair is still unkempt, his eyes still cut right through me, he’s still got his handheld and aims it my way when he spots me. He is, however, wearing a shirt now.  
He laughs, easy and careless despite all that he was just threatened with. “Hey, Tucker. Miss me?”  
“No.” Is my instantaneous reply. I shrug uncomfortably when his gaze stays glued to me. “Maybe. Just a little.” It’s a noncommittal answer, just enough that he won’t be pissed at me for the rest of the trip. Not that I need him to be agreeable for life to go on.  
He rolls his eyes and turns the handheld off, as if I’m not worth it anymore. I spend several quiet moments trying to figure out where I went wrong before deciding that it matters not. Kenny gnaws his already chapped bottom lip until it bleeds. “Right. Like you’d miss a whore.”  
“God,” I breathe before I can refrain. I push wayward locks from my sweaty forehead. “Look, that was a stupid spur of the moment thing. I shouldn’t have said it.”  
He clenches his jaw and gives me a diminutive, curt nod. “Damn right you shouldn’t have.”

“So, do you have a real assignment for me today?” Kenny asks me later, when we’re lounging in our suite and effectively ignoring one another.  
I roll over to raise an eyebrow at him. “I don’t even have an assignment today. Why do you want one?”  
He throws a pillow at my head. “I missed two days and disappeared, Cross just emailed me saying he wants me to make it up. And you said you’d come up with something, so now’s the time.” He looks impatient, but I’ve got to ask.  
“Where did you go, anyway?”  
“What, were you worried?” He shoots back, expression impassive. His voice is cold, but something in the way he looks at me makes me think he wanted me to worry.  
“No. I just… was wondering.”  
“I’ve got a friend in Lanai. She let me stay with her until I was done being pissed off to the brink of snapping.”  
“How the fuck did you get to Lanai?”  
“A fucking boat, Tucker.”  
“Aren’t you like, broke?”  
“Yes. You think I paid? No, dumbass.” He punctuates this with a laugh. “Can you just give me an assignment now?” He stands up to head for the bathroom and, by the sound of it, take a piss.  
“Can you shut the damn door when you use the toilet?” I ask, groaning.  
He peeks his head around the corner, smiling. “Why?”  
“Jesus Christ, McCormick. Go make a video about volcanoes.”  
“Sweet!” He crosses the room to get his handycam and a pair of beat up sneakers. “Facts or just cool footage?”  
I wave him off languidly. “Whichever you like.”  
He grins at me one last time before slamming the door shut. He leaves me rattled in his wake.

*** Day 8: Sunday, May 11, 2003

We take a bus to another resort on Sunday, when the sun has yet to make life miserably tropical. Kenny drools on the shirt I bought in this little gas station when we stopped for some kids to pee. For the record, I did not buy it of my own accord. This kid named Bernard, aided by Kenny, goaded me into getting a souvenir shirt. Kenny insisted on putting his initials on the tag, because ‘we’re partners in crime now.’  
I’ve got my earbuds in and am trying to sleep too, but I can’t relax with Kenny in such close proximity. Instead I act like every love song that comes on doesn’t feel like it’s about us. Which is increasingly difficult as time passes and Kenny stirs awake.  
“Shit, sorry,” Kenny blushes, sitting up and smoothing his shirt out. His hair is a mess and his lips are parted, all kinds of tempting. “Did I do that?” He’s eyeing the damp spot on my shoulder with embarrassment written all over his pretty face.  
“Yeah. It’s fine though, dude,” I shrug him off and stick my earbuds back in so he stops talking. It’s no big deal really, I’m only falling in love with you.  
He pulls one of them out and puts it in his own ear after making a show of wiping it off. “Nice music, Tucker.” He goes back to resting his head on my shoulder as if this is normal for us. I kind of wish it was.  
“Thanks. I only recently found this band, but they’re one of my favourites already.” I don’t know why I feel the need to say more, but Kenny has that effect on me. I always feel like my cryptic answers are not enough with the boy who readily supplies every person he happens to run into with his most intimate personal information.  
Kenny beams up at me, all teeth and freckles. “I fucking love them.” He pauses, as if to decide something, then starts humming along with the music. “I remember when I first noticed that you liked me back. We were sitting down in a restaurant waiting for the check.”  
I feel like I’m seeing everything for the first time.

*** Day 9: Monday, May 12, 2003

Kenny nudges me with his foot from his bed until I stir. The space between us is only about two feet, and I can't exactly roll away. "Wake up."  
"Why?" I grumble into the cool sheets. I was having a dream about Tweek before Kenny woke me up, and I can't help but feel a little bitter. It was nice; before we broke up for the first time but after I figured out I really was gay. The prime of our relationship.  
"Because, lazy ass. We're going to a museum today and we've got to meet up with everyone else for breakfast in like half an hour," he states. He's trying to reach across the void between us to touch me – specifically my hair – I think. It’s in my eyes, and I’m surprised that he minds.  
A song I've never heard is streaming from his phone, which is set on this tiny nightstand in the void. A woman with a scratchy, just-woke-up voice sings “Nostalgia has me feeling bittersweet. Reminiscing on the days things were easy. Guess I was a fool for believing you. Yeah the truth hurts more than a lie or two.”  
I scowl at him and his crooked grin. "Why'd you wait so long to wake me up?"  
He shrugs. "You look like that guinea pig of yours when you sleep. It's kind of endearing." When he decides that this sounds too soft for the nature of our relationship, he adds, "And good for blackmail material."  
I pretend not to hear the last part as I pick out a pair of jeans and a tee shirt for the day. "I do not look like Stripe when I sleep."  
"You totally do. Oh and don't worry, I showered earlier." He eyes my choice of clothing skeptically. "Today is supposed to be super warm. You might wanna wear shorts."  
The thing is, I only own one pair of shorts and they're at home. I go into the bathroom and shut the door conclusively.

Kenny tips his head back and laughs this full, cymbals crashing kind of laugh. "You're such an emo kid it's not even funny."  
"It must be, for you to be laughing your ass off like that," I snip. He went through my clothes while I was showering, out of 'suspicion'. Of course, he discovered that my waist and below wardrobe mostly consists of high waisted black skinny jeans and a pair of mom jeans. Not a single pair of shorts. Needless to say, he thinks it's the funniest thing ever. I beg to differ, but he's not listening to anything I've got to say.  
He smiles at me in a not quite amiable way. "The mom jeans are kinda cool though. Not nearly as emo, more ultra hipster. But how did you expect to survive in Hawaii without shorts?"  
"Have you ever even seen me in shorts? It's not a very good look."  
"You were ranked as the hottest boy in school, Tucker. There must've been a reason for that," Kenny insists. He's rifling through his duffel bag now, not looking at me. "Aha!" He exclaims triumphantly, shoving a pair of grey cargo shorts into my grasp.  
"I'd rather get heatstroke," I tell him blankly. I put the shorts back into his bag and go over to my own. I pull the mom jeans out and put them on.  
"Fuck you, dude," he spits. He’s grimacing at his feet instead of me, which tells me that he’s really fucking hurt. Who the fuck knows why though, since it’s not like he has the right to tell me what to do.  
God, I could punch that look right off of his face. Alternatively, I could kiss it off. I choose neither. Instead, I pull the jeans off in favour of his shorts. "You don't own me."  
"Damn right I don't." He holds the jeans up, grinning wildly. "Can I wear these?"  
"If you want people to think we're fucking."  
***  
It turns out he's delighted with the idea that people assume we're fucking. Because of this, we have hardly sat down for breakfast when Bernard raises jokingly suggestive eyebrows at us. "Hey lovebirds."  
I send him the most murderous look I can muster up from across the table. "We are not in love."  
He smiles stupidly. "So, casual sex?"  
Kenny digs into a bear claw while my face virtually bursts into flames. I smack the back of his blond head. "Asshole."  
He snickers. "We're not fucking, dude. It's a long story."  
"But why is Craig so embarrassed?" Bernard presses, clearly unconvinced.  
"Craig's fucking stupid. However, he wouldn't tap this," Kenny says conversationally. He snags one of the poptarts off my plate and takes a bite. "Yknow, that's one thing that sucks about this trip. I can't have sex and I can't get high. Those are like, the most important components of my day to day life."  
Bernard looks surprised by this statement. "Dude, you must think I'm lame as hell."  
Kenny giggles, tucking a lock of blond behind his ear. "I think Craig is lame as hell." He nibbles on his stolen poptart with a content look on his face.  
I glare at him and Bernard. "I fucking hate both of you."  
"You love me," Kenny bats his eyes at me.  
"You're delusional."  
We finish the rest of our breakfast in near silence, with only the occasional remark from McCormick and the even more scarce word of reply from Bernard. I try not to notice the way the former has got his side pressed close to mine throughout the meal.

*** Day 11: Wednesday, May 14, 2003

I get my assignment (foliage) done before noon on Wednesday, so I hole up by the pool with a book. Kenny, who has nothing to do and is essentially an extension of me as of late, stays close by. He sunbathes and plays music on my phone because his is out of data; I decipher Shakespearean and think about moving here after high school.  
"And you're sitting in the back of the car... Just sucking on your cigarette. But your eyes, they sold you out again," Kenny sings. He's not singing the lyrics to me, yet I can't help feeling like he is. And he's even smiling at me.  
I avert my gaze in favour of a bloody fight carried out in words that haven't made sense to people in decades. The uneasy pang in my chest is less severe if I ignore said affinity.  
When another verse of the song has faded away, he pipes up with a question. "You ready to go home on Friday?"  
"No. I kind of want to stay here forever," I admit over my book.  
He smiles and gets up to come perch on the edge of my lounge chair. "Me too. I think this is the most at peace I've been in my whole life. South Park is absolutely murderous compared to this place. I'm thinking about staying here. I don't have to go back, yknow? I could start over and-"  
"And you kissed me just because you knew it'd shut me up." The song goes, and I finally lean in.  
The space between our mouths is shorter than I thought, and our teeth clash when his lips part. He kisses back for all of three seconds before jerking away and springing to his feet. “Sorry,” is all he mutters before he’s sprinting in the opposite direction.  
I drop my book in the pool and go back to my room to berate myself in peace.

*** Day 12: Thursday, May 15, 2003

Thursday is disappointingly lacking in the obnoxiously sanguine yet prepossessing blond department, and I end up making a mini film about all of the ways he’s caught my eyes ever since we were eight to pass the time. I figure he won’t come back this time, and at first that’s hard to swallow. I get over it, or at least get good at thespianism. And at avoidance.  
Unfortunately, I’ll probably have to get a new phone because Kenny still had it with him when he freaked out yesterday. Unless he returns and somehow doesn’t hate me, which is radically unlikely.  
I feel so fucking stupid for letting myself fall, for thinking things would work out when I know better than that.  
I didn’t think I’d be so damn scared.  
I always thought I’d be the one to freak out, but it appears that the most upbeat guy I’ve ever known is more scared of the world than I’ve ever been.  
I wish I knew all of these seemingly infinitesimal things before closing that gap and sealing the one deal I can’t go back on.

*** Day 13: Friday, May 16, 2003

It’s just minutes before 9am, which is when we leave for the airport, that the door to our room slams open and Kenny races in. He’s not smiling and clean this time. His hair is mussed, his eyes are hazy with a complex swirl of emotion, his clothes are askew. He dives into my arms before I’ve got the chance to do much more than gape at him. “Sorry.”  
“Hey, are you crying? Fuck, Ken, what the hell is wrong with you?” I squish his short frame with my own lanky one.  
He pokes his head out from the embrace to make a face at me. “No, I’m not crying.”  
“Good.”  
“Sorry for running off,” he mumbles after a few moments. “It’s not you, just so you know. I can’t be with you, is all.” He tells me this in a very matter-of-fact voice, because this is the way things have to be.  
Problem is, I don’t see why. “Why the hell not?” I demand. I’m throwing my resolve away and he’s throwing me away. Nothing is the way I wanted it to be. I deserve an answer, at the very least.  
He pushes off my chest and holds his ground a few feet away. “I’m too fucked up and you deserve better.”  
“So that’s it then? I’m falling in love for the first time and this is how it ends,” I say, hysteria working its way into my voice with every word.  
Something in his expression gives. “The first time? What about Tweek?”  
“What about him? I only thought I loved him, okay?” I’ve got tears in my eyes now, they make those big ocean coloured orbs swim in front of me. His freckles look less like stars and more like voids in something that almost was but didn’t quite make the cut.  
He presses on. “How do you know this is any different?”  
“Because it is, Kenny! I fucking know, okay? I know when I look at you, when you tell some fucking joke, I know right now. I’ve probably known since junior year!”  
He sighs, half irritated, half meek, but his reply is intense. “You weren’t supposed to fall in love with me!”  
“What else is a guy to do when you run around our no good town looking winsome and free all the fucking time?” I yell back, just as fierce.  
“I don’t know! Anything but this! I was supposed to have one sided love until I moved on, wasn’t supposed to wonder! I didn’t want to fit you into a life that surely doesn’t have the space or to worry about fucking another relationship up. I was perfectly happy with you living in oblivion, Craig!” He’s crying too.  
“And I’m supposed to be happy with that too? Did it ever occur to you that maybe things aren’t always perfect? That maybe I do want you, maybe I’ve always wanted you? Fuck, you’re such a self centred asshole. And I’m in love with you anyway,” I admonish, flopping onto his bed with a groan.  
He breaks into an infectious smile. “That really does say something, Tucker.” He crawls up to straddle my hips, grinning wider with each passing moment. “What do you say to being happy together?”  
“I wouldn’t want anything else,” I smile too, pulling him down for a kiss. And I’m so glad I fell in love with him.


End file.
